User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Tavern of the Rusted Claw/@comment-3135907-20160606042751

"Ngh!"

A feeble groan drifted across the quiet waters, washing over the floating forms of Jalfis and Slank. The main bulk of the ship was gone now, and unfortunately, the ship's puncture wound had not fragmented enough to provide ample driftwood for all those thrown overboard into the unrelenting ocean only an hour before.

"Gh..."

There it was again.

And then a beast followed it, bobbing into view of the floundering beasts through the low, thick fog that had settled on the lapping waves.

It was Swisher. His paws were bleeding and raw from gripping his precious length of shattered hardwood bulkhead, his throat hoarse and cracked. But still, the ferret clung on to life.

He'd always wondered what happened when a creature died, if the tales of a happy land of good with stern but kindly badgers and a benevolent mouse for goodbeasts and a grinning maw of a Devil's hell lying in store for beasts like him.

He looked down at the planks; his paws began to release as Death loomed in the distance... The roughened old paws tightened rebelliously. He was never that curious.